A Perfect Day
by nancy fan
Summary: Quinn finally gives birth. Inspired by the Expectations vs. Reality scene in the movie 500 Days of Summer.
1. Expectations

**Expectations**

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Quinn is sitting in the movie theatre when it starts, Puck's arm draped lightly over her shoulder. They are watching Transformers (she still doesn't know how the hell, he convinced her to come) and she's picking distractedly at the bag of candy on her lap. Puck occasionally reaches over to dig his hand noisily into the crumpled bag and triumphantly retrieves some of the chocolate covered peanuts that he loves so much. They have been dating for two months now; the pair somehow managing to forge a relationship from the ruins of the fallout after their unspeakable betrayal of Finn.

Delicately taking a sip from her diet coke, her hand resting instinctively on her impossibly swollen belly, Quinn is about to pass the soda to Puck when a searing pain sliced into her back reducing her to a shaking, miserable mess.

Puck doesn't even notice. His brown eyes are frozen to the screen, completely engrossed by the epic battle that is being fought by the towering metallic monsters.

"Puck," Quinn whispers urgently, grabbing his hand, her hazel eyes wide with fear.

Quinn doesn't need to say anymore. Turning to look at her, his fingers soft against her cheek, Puck knows immediately that this is it; that the hours of prenatal classes and being dragged to doctor appointments and Quinn's rapidly expanding body have all being leading up to this very moment.

"You'll be okay," Puck murmurs reassuring, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist as he leads her through the darkened auditorium. All around them people are sitting silent, mindlessly shoveling popcorn and chips into their mouths, completely oblivious to the miracle that was unfolding around them.

Quinn can only whimper in answer, the pain already a clenching, agonizing hell and from the sketchy memories she has of the birthing video (at least the parts she could bring herself to look at through carefully slotted fingers) this is only the beginning.

In the background, she is vaguely aware that Puck is asking her something about her waters breaking but Quinn barely hears him. All the Lamaze classes in the world and knowing talks from her mother's friends, couldn't have prepared her for this.

"_God, it hurts," _she moans miserably, tears prickling in her eyes as the intensity of the pain deepens.

"We'll be at the hospital before you even know it," Puck murmurs reassuringly, as he guides her out into the blinding blue of outside.

Quinn can only nod unconvincingly in answer, her panic mounting as she recalls the uncomfortable conversation she had shared with a random woman in the doctor's office, who had completely unnecessarily revealed that she had been in labor for over thirty-six hours during the birth of her first child.

Puck on his part is amazing. Whether rightly or wrongly, in McKinley High, he is perceived as a womanizer, as a dumb jock and a bully. To Quinn however, Noah Puckerman is none of these things. For the past two months, Puck has been the one to tie her shoe laces, when her bump had expanded to such gigantic proportions that she could barely touch her knees, never mind her toes. He has become an expert at satisfying all her ridiculous cravings; pulling himself from his bed at ungodly hours to buy her her favorite cookie dough ice-cream and never failing to make her feel beautiful, even when her blonde hair hangs in stringy lengths on her shoulders and her once fashionable clothes stretch miserably over her swollen and bulky frame.

Twenty long, grueling hours later and Quinn is presented with her baby, _their_ _baby,_ the infant, squalling and red-faced, placed comfortingly against her breast. Her tiny fists are curled up into tight, angry balls and her limbs are flailing wildly, the baby clearly unimpressed with her unceremonious welcome into the world.

Puck can't keep his eyes off his daughter. Her wispy, soft hair is blonde like Quinn's but the liquid, brown eyes mirror his own. "I can't believe she's ours," he sighs in absolute awe, his outstretched arms clearly aching to hold the wriggling, pink-clad bundle that is his daughter.

Pressed against Quinn's breast, the baby shrieks protestingly, her scrunched-up face angry and red but cradled in Puck's arms, her sobs gradually subside.

"She likes you," Quinn smiles, wearily reaching out and running a finger gently over her daughter's velvet-soft cheek.

So utterly engrossed in the tiny infant bundled in his arms, Puck barely responds, just rocks his daughter gently in his arms, humming her a soft lullaby in sweet, hushed tones.

Glancing at Puck, cradling their daughter close with such uncharacteristic tenderness, Quinn is struck by an overwhelming feeling of love. Love for their tiny baby and for their newly unfolding life together. But it was more than that; Quinn knew she was falling in love with Puck. And though Puck had never even verged close on uttering those words, the sweetness of his kiss and the tenderness of his actions conveyed his feelings much more than mere words ever could.

At home, in her parent's house, the baby's room is painted the color of cotton candy and the flat-pack crib has already been assembled, Puck having spent almost an entire evening fumbling awkwardly with hammers and nails, while he tried to decipher the ridiculously complex set of instructions. Purple unicorns and golden stars adorn the walls and their daughter's name is stenciled meticulously above the crib in the most delicate silver script.

Ella. The name hadn't been chosen easily; Judy battling with Quinn to name the baby after her dead mother and Puck inexplicably wanting to bestow his baby with the same name as his favorite Mortal Kombat character.

But Ella fits and Puck puts up no fight, whispering the name softly to his daughter as though trying it out.

"I think Ella suits her," Puck finally murmurs, the name declared fit before passing their blissfully slumbering daughter back into Quinn's waiting arms.

The dual effect of the torturous labor and the potent mixture of medications have rendered Quinn wonderfully drowsy and her eyelids feel impossibly heavy as she struggles to focus on what Puck is saying.

She might have been dreaming but the last thing Quinn remembers is Puck whispering softly that he loves her before she surrenders mercifully to sleep.


	2. Reality

**Reality**

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It has been raining for days now, the roads glistening with vast pools of water. The puddles are shot through with uneven, glimmering rainbows from the oil that drips steadily from the passing cars. Nine-months pregnant and Quinn is dragging herself to school, kicking unhappily through the shimmering puddles of water as she scrapes her dripping wet hair out of her face.

Miserable and cold, Quinn shudders wearily. The last of Puck's money, the crumpled bills she had secreted under a pile of rainbow colored shirts are gone and now, Quinn can't even afford to take the bus. How she'd manage to scrape together the rent money for next week is another matter entirely and one on which, Quinn doesn't care to dwell for too long on.

She is passing the Cineplex when it starts. The crumbling theatre is the site of many a date with Finn Hudson, back when she had been the golden girl of McKinley High, commanding the role of head cheerleader and more importantly, the undivided attention of every guy at school.

Stepping inadvertently into a puddle of icy water, the miserable cold seeping into her shoes and socks, Quinn curses under her breath, when a torturous pain searing into her abdomen leaves her recoiling with shock.

"Oh, God," she moans through gritted teeth, clutching onto the wall for support as she waits for the waves of pain to pass.

The rain is spitting down now in vengeful, unrelenting torrents and leaning miserably against the yellow-painted wall, Quinn is teetering on the verge of breaking down into pitiful, wrenching sobs, when a passing woman stops and places her hand gently on her shoulder.

"Are you okay, honey?"

The woman's words are tinged with a strange mixture of both curiosity and concern but her voice is the kindest that Quinn has heard in a long time.

Through tear glazed eyes, Quinn sees that the woman is aged well into her early sixties, her grey-streaked hair smoothed back into an immaculate bun. She is struggling with overflowing grocery bags and a toddler, who is screaming inconsolably from his perch in the plastic enclosed stroller but still, she stops, hushing the blonde-haired boy to be quiet while she gazes appraisingly at Quinn. Her keen, watery-blue eyes immediately travel down to the pronounced bump protruding from beneath the teen's thin, navy coat.

"You've started, haven't you?" she inquires knowingly, and at Quinn's tearful nod, the woman is suddenly spurred into action, whipping out her cellphone and dialing 911. Though the toddler protests angrily, the soft blue blanket is pried from his chubby fingers and is quickly wrapped around Quinn's trembling shoulders

"Thanks for this," Quinn murmurs appreciatively, tears stinging her eyes again at the woman's kindhearted benevolence.

It's pathetic really; her own mother won't trouble herself to see her pregnant daughter and this woman, a random stranger on the street is practically delivering her child.

At the hospital, they ask Quinn if she wants to call somebody but she shakes her head forcibly in reply before screaming, her body clenched in the grips of another agonizing contraction.

The baby finally arrives five, excruciating hours later and Quinn is barely conscious, barely aware as the screaming infant is bundled into her arms, her high pitched wails permeating miserably through the entire hospital ward.

The baby's hair is blonde, Quinn realizes numbly, when the newborn is placed carefully in her arms the following day. The same shade of silvery blonde that she herself possesses but the baby is not hers. There is no carefully chosen name to whisper softly while the baby slumbers peacefully in her arms and no awaiting nursery, painted in the prettiest of purples and pinks because the baby has been already promised to an impossibly perfect couple from Cincinnati, that Quinn simply knew would make wonderful parents to the unborn baby growing in her stomach the second she met them. They have the house with the white picket fence and the sprawling backyard and the jungle gym; all the things Quinn wanted to give the baby but she knew she never could.

Still, it's hard handing her over. _Her_ baby, clad in the sunny yellow dress that _they_ chose, is pressed close against her chest for one last hug and then she's gone. Whisked away in the arms of a sympathetic nurse.


End file.
